


Gone Fishin'

by crabmoney3



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Boston Flowers, Fishing, Gen, Hawaii Fridays, Siesta, a sense of agency, election, nagomi finally gets to make a decision, season 12, seattle garages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29924208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabmoney3/pseuds/crabmoney3
Summary: Nagomi McDaniel is thrown around from team to team every season. After a ten year siesta, she had forgotten what it feels like to never have a place, to always be moved at someone else's whim. She decides it's finally time for her to make her own choices.
Relationships: Nagomi McDaniel & Herself, Nagomi Mcdaniel/Mrs. Silk
Kudos: 20





	Gone Fishin'

**Author's Note:**

> this one's for u goblin

Gone Fishin’

By crabmoney3

It has been a long ten years in Hawai’i. Peaceful, restful, but long nonetheless. Nagomi has managed to enjoy her time here—a reunion, a wedding, fishing along the rocky shore. The siesta was good for her. She didn’t have to move around, really. She even began to finally unpack her bags. She let herself become comfortable.

When the games start up, she gets used to traveling again. It isn’t so bad this time, hopping from game to game. She knows she’ll still end up back in Kona by the end of it. People continue to cheer from her, but it doesn’t seem as loud as it did before. She’s not deafened by the roar of the crowd anymore, no longer boxed in by their cries for her to be the idol they crave.

She still watches her name rise on the idol board, though. She tries not to let it bother her, but she can’t help but feel a sense of unease as her name moves up to join the ranks of those like her stepson. The foreboding numbers loom over her throughout the season, a calm before the storm.

When there is an actual storm and the Crabs rain down, she breathes a sigh of relief. She tries to convince herself that this is what she was feeling. The fear, the unease, it was just her old team returning after a decade of being gone. The kind of unease that comes with a high school reunion, not with an uprooting.

That’s what she hopes, at least. And then the election happens. Nagomi wakes up at home with her wife. She had decided not to go to the election hearing with the rest of the Fridays. Maybe if she doesn’t go, nothing will happen to her for once. She’s content.

She hears a knock on the door.

She doesn’t want to answer it.

She dreads what’s on the other side.

She knows she cannot ignore it forever.

She opens the door.

A representative of the ILB hands her a notice. She opens the pristine paper. She has been traded to the Seattle Garages, effective immediately. It’s all beginning again. Nagomi drops the notice to the floor and begins to pack in a daze. She brings the bare minimum—her equipment, some clothes, a wedding photo. She thinks for a moment, and decides to bring her fishing gear as well. There’s good trout fishing in Washington.

Nagomi heads towards the airport and takes the first flight. It has a layover in Los Angeli. She stares out the window on her flight, watching the islands disappear below. The ocean is beautiful. There are few clouds obscuring her view, and for a while on the ascent she can even make out the outline of great white sharks sunning near the surface. After a while, she stares straight ahead, trying not to think about her new life in Seattle. She won’t be totally alone there, at least. It will be interesting to see Oliver again. To see how he’s upgraded into himself.

After about five hours, Nagomi feels the plane begin its descent into LAX. Her ears pop and chitin crackles from the pressure change. It’s a bumpy landing. She wonders how long it’ll be before her next flight. She deplanes and begins to walk down the carpet into the main body of the airport. She is greeted by another representative.

She is handed another notice. It tells her she has been traded to the Boston Flowers. Her bags are already being transferred to a new flight. She is handed a new boarding pass. She rips the notice in half, and heads to her new gate.

Why she ever thought this season would be different, she does not know. Why she ever thought they would leave her alone, let her rest, let her live a life away from the microscope examining all her stars in detail and let her exist outside of her statistics is beyond her. She does not know. She cannot bring herself to care.

She boards the plane to Boston. As each hour passes, she can feel herself becoming more restless in the small aisle seat she’s assigned. Her knee bounces as she thinks about how little say she has ever had in her own life. When was the last time she was allowed to make a decision? When has she ever been in control? The answer is plainly, never. She has always been at the mercy of others, always taken changes to her life not in stride but with quiet acceptance. The appearance she has is the opposite of meek and yet, that is all she has ever been in the face of changes. She has never disagreed. She has never argued with the way the world works.

This time, she makes a decision.

This time, she will be in control.

Her plane lands in Boston. A hired car drives her to the Garden. She is led to a locker room, and she is left alone to get settled.

When the rest of the Flowers come down to greet Nagomi, they find the locker room is empty. They call for who they expect to be their new teammate. They see her equipment bag leaned up against a pale green locker, still locked. There’s a note scribbled on a horizontal piece of lined notebook paper, and taped up hastily with masking tape.

In Nagomi’s handwriting it reads: GONE FISHIN’

By the time the note is found, Nagomi is already north of Boston on the banks of Cherry Brook, a floppy hat on her head, tackle vest over broad shoulders, and a shiny new Massachusetts fishing license in her pocket. She ties a stonefly nymph hook to the end the end of her rod, and cast it into the brook, feeling warmth in her heart at the sound of the line whipping back and forth as she casts into just the right spot. She smiles and hums to herself while watching the neon yellow indicator float on the water. When she feels the first nibble on the end of the line, she knows she will be happy with her decision.


End file.
